


L'Amour Looks Something Like You

by undecimber



Series: Hannibal in Lingerie [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undecimber/pseuds/undecimber
Summary: The slip was hardly a garment at all: diaphanous, hiding nothing underneath its sheer, opalescent luster.





	L'Amour Looks Something Like You

Some pleasures were best indulged sparingly, lest the burnish of novelty be dulled. Reclined in the spacious bathtub, Hannibal soaked under warm water in what had become precursor to an exceptional indulgence.

For many years, his interest in delicate accouterments was a matter of caprice; something private, which he had shared with none; but Will had become an inextricable part of the affair. As with many things, his mere presence inveigled inclusion into Hannibal's schemes and habits.  

It was enough to make a man cross (if he allowed himself), how easily Will had situated himself at the center of his life, everything reoriented towards his accommodation.

It was difficult to dredge up reluctance regarding this particular matter, though. Will's enthusiasm was more rewarding than any solitary enjoyment he had given to himself in the past. The first time Will beheld him transformed in lace and satin, his reverent passion had made Hannibal shiver.

Presently, he began to clean himself thoroughly, taking his time. The soaped washcloth left stripes of foam on his body with every sure swipe; when washed away, they ran down his body in rivulets which clouded the bathwater.

His skin felt attuned to every sensation, a low thrum of anticipation perched underneath it. Deep in his belly was the stirring of desire, like banked coals.

He set about shaving. He slathered his left arm with shaving cream and applied the razor to it, going against the grain of his hair. The same to the right arm. He straightened his back against the tub and hiked his legs up, one after the other, leaving each smooth and hairless.

After a final wash, he rose, dripping, and reached for the towels kept folded on the counter. Drying off was also an unhurried action. He luxuriated in the pleasant coolness of the air against his fresh skin.

In the bedroom, swathed in a lush bathrobe, he rubbed himself down with lotion, selected for the mild spice of its scent, in complement to the heart notes of the perfume he would put on shortly.

Nail polish was next, a rich burgundy colour. He painted his toenails first. Fingernails were trickier, especially his right, but he applied the varnish with the steady practice of hands trained to surgical precision. Capping the bottle, he examined his work with satisfaction. His coats were even, without a blemish. The paint had metallic flecks in it, which, angled in the light, yielded an iridescent shimmer.

He moved to the dressing table while his nails dried, pulling open the drawer that enclosed the few cosmetics he owned. Eyeliner, smudged lightly to bring out the smolder in his eyes. Lipstick –his favorite part, a berry red, matching his nail polish. It was ever a delight to roll up the tube, to trace the shape of his top lip, transferring the pigment, with a press, to his bottom lip. He took out a small brush to finely fill in the border of his mouth, crisp and immaculate.

Rouge for his cheeks, a slight dusting to impart a subtle flush. Then perfume, out of a bell shaped glass bottle, dabbed onto his wrist, behind his ears, the inside of his elbows, and behind both knees. 

(One time, Will had had him on his back, with his legs folded up to his chest, and when he'd caught a whiff of the scent at Hannibal's knee, he'd let out a ravenous groan and fucked him with such abandon, Hannibal had lost coherence.)

The perfume had a "masculine" fragrance, smoky cedar wood, set to contrast the flimsy lingerie he was to wear. He knew that Will appreciated the juxtaposition; like how he shaved his arms and legs but kept the dusting of down on his chest.

Once his hair was brushed back with some pomade, it was time to get dressed, the outfit picked for tonight laid out on the bed.

The slip was hardly a garment at all: diaphanous, hiding nothing underneath its sheer, opalescent luster. It had a low back, and a plunging v neck exposing his collarbones and the top of his chest. Only a decorative applique along the top was opaque, a delicate pattern of embroidered chrysanthemums. It fell in a clean straight line, flaring out a little, with slits on either side, so short it brushed the tops of his thighs.

The panties were black lace, their cut slashing across Hannibal's hips. He put them on then stood before the full-length closet mirror to assess the finished product. The overall effect was understated, yet striking.

Checking the time, he saw that he still had a few minutes to spare before Will was meant to come knocking. Usually, he employed these moments to contemplate the manner in which he would array himself for Will to find, perfectly composing the image that first struck Will's eye when he entered –a languid lounge that invited a playful tumble, an air of expectancy achieved through crossed legs and a turned up chin –and so on.

Feeling venturesome, he broke tradition. He left the bedroom and made his way outside, down the corridor and staircase, into the living room, where, as he predicted, he found Will seated on the end of the cream couch, nursing a drink.

Will’s eyes widened when they landed on Hannibal at the entryway, in the middle of taking a sip; he gulped it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and placed the glass tumbler on the side table with a fumble.

Hannibal approached in deliberate long strides, placing one foot in front of the other to put a sway in his walk. And then he stopped, towering over Will who lifted his head to look up at him.

"Am I late?" He asked.

"No," said Hannibal, straddling him on the couch.

Will's hands went to his waist reflexively. His breathing had quickened. His blue eyes, when Hannibal tugged on the hair above his nape to tip his head back, were eclipsed with wide pupils.

"Change of routine?"

"Variety is the spice of life, after all," drolly.

"Right. Like there's any part of this I might get bored of."

He nosed along Hannibal's collarbone, eyelashes fluttering. He pressed a sweet closed-mouthed kiss to the hollow of Hannibal's throat.

Hannibal longed for a proper kiss on the mouth, but Will was always reluctant to mess up his lipstick. Instead, Will changed his grip on him, a hand braced on his back, and communicating his intent with his eyes, he maneuvered Hannibal off his lap and onto the length of the couch. Hannibal went willingly, beautifully supple, letting his legs fall open as he lay down, presenting an enticing picture. The slip shifted, resting on his belly in lovely folds. Will positively ogled him.

"You look—" he began, as he crept forward, his body an arch over Hannibal's.

"Yes?"

Will forewent an answer, situating himself between Hannibal's thighs, where he began to kiss damply. The rasp of his stubble against the sensitive skin there sent a jolt of arousal sizzling through Hannibal's gut. He put his hand in Will's hair, fingers sifting through the loose curls, his other hand outflung over the arm of the couch.

The desire to be desired was new to him. Though he’d always been meticulous in how he presented himself, he was not one to seek external approval. Affirmation, perhaps, in some capacity; but he never used to occupy himself with concerns of suiting another's pleasure.

He had lived to please himself; he'd killed to do so; and he sometimes wore panties because it pleased him. Now he desired to please Will –but this was not selfless. Will's desire was a mirror reflecting the very best of his own attributes back to him; a new dimension to the pursuit’s original narcissism–or so he rationalized.

The thread of thought was splitting apart, unspooling under Will's probing tongue.

In the bedroom, Will pushed him to the door and at last delivered the kiss that Hannibal yearned for, a brand of heat over his mouth. He loved how Will angled up for it in his eagerness. He loved Will's smaller stature, wrapping him up in his arms. He loved the solid press of his body. And then a hand was pressing firmly against his groin.

Eventually, Will eased on the kissing, his passion tempered into slow, tantalizing kisses, matched to the motion that he struck up with his hand, slowly, deliciously rubbing Hannibal through the lace of his panties.

Hannibal let out a small noise and rocked his hips into it.

Will's warm breath was all over his face. The soft ceiling spotlight elongated the shadow cast by Will's eyelashes. His mouth was smeared with red, like the intensity of the kissing had bruised it, or as though he'd partaken, voraciously, of plump, juicy fruit. It made Hannibal ache to touch him.

Resting his weight against the door, he undid Will's belt, drawing it away from the pant loops and dropping it to the ground with a clang. He nudged Will towards the bed, pausing only to yank his trousers, before toppling him down.

Will kicked them off, heaving himself back to half-lie against the pillows.

The top button of his shirt was undone, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. A bulge was evident through his boxer briefs. His jaw was slack, his eyes bright, the low light pooling in them. There was a look written on his face, something like entreaty.

Hannibal rode Will, half-supported by the headboard, taking him deep into his body. His grip on Will's shoulders was proprietary, like Will was his to keep and to consume, for Hannibal to glut himself with that pretty cock, so hot inside of him. He couldn't get enough.

The frenzy of his movement caused the straps of his slip to fall off his shoulders. His engorged sex was fit to burst out of the panties, the wet tip poking out of the top of the waistband. With every thrust he felt pleasure shooting through him like sparklers, his erection grinding against Will's front.

Will's hands were linked at his lower back, and he mouthed and nuzzled at Hannibal’s chest, the juncture of his neck, muffling his noises there.

Hannibal came around Will in spasms, hot spurts soiling his slip. Will lay him down and pulled out of him tenderly, finishing himself off in a few more thrusts against Hannibal's stomach.

Hannibal watched Will’s face while it happened, so intent and beautiful, sweat dampening his hairline, red lips parted, shiny with spit.

Afterwards they showered together.

Will was full of lazy smiles, stealing a few more kisses from Hannibal under the warm spray. When they stepped out it, he shook the water from his hair like a dog would, and flashed a happy grin when Hannibal made to towel it for him, fussily.

They brushed their teeth, standing side by side at the double wash basin, then dressed for bed, Hannibal in silk pajamas, Will in an undershirt and clean boxers.

Radiating bone-deep satiation, Will fell asleep within minutes of splaying underneath the duvet on his side of the bed.

Hannibal, however, was far from sleep. A dreamy sort of sharpness tinged his perception. With his head propped on his hand, he watched Will sleep across the distance between them, concordant to the comforting rhythm of Will's respiration, enveloped by the smell of their lovemaking, which still clung to the sheets.

He put his mind to the next day, starting to plan the meals he would prepare for the two of them. Roasted asparagus and poached eggs, drizzled with ribbons of creamy garlic sauce; for lunch, a pair of wine braised pheasants. He was considering what to pair them with, when Will shifted in his sleep, moving a foot forward. It rested against Hannibal's calf, just above his own foot.

There was such a helplessness to Will, as he lay prone there. Hannibal could throttle him in his slumber, clamping a vise-like grip; waking up, Will would offer no real resistance, he was so defenseless. His eyes would be so startled. Hannibal wondered if comprehension or the sting of betrayal would cross them before the light went out of them.

Of course Hannibal would not do it, nor did he want to. Nevertheless, he had that power. It filled him with a pitying sort of endearment.

Conversely, he could kiss him. All he had to do was lean over.

Will’s face was half buried in his pillow. Hannibal contemplated where on Will’s face to plant it, and settled on the spot just beside his lip, which tugged up when he smiled.

Hannibal did not kiss him, but he _could_ , and that alone triggered a surge of pure joy in his chest, as though he had really done it.

He found then that he was suddenly drowsy after all, so he shut off the light and went to sleep with the sole of Will's foot still touching him.


End file.
